for those of us who secretly wished to be skanks for a day

I am, above all, an undeniably senseless person.
those wishes i'd conceive, those desires i'd craft...
nonsensical.
it's no way to be, really; always wanting what you are not, and always hoping for the nails to be driven through your skin, simply because they were not there before.
Do you really want to be used?
and hurt?
shall i rent a masked gorilla to beat you into the ground, a parade of lions to chase you around the yard?
yet the secret want is still there, unashamedly glaring right into our faces.
It is not a want of abuse, but rather a want of being wanted.
in reality
we are all just lonely loners.
crying out for someone to ease our pain
we are all just lepers,
huddling outside the shining city that so graciously throws its garbage our way..
lepers.
wishing on a star that the next traveler will have pity, compassion
we'd do anything to confirm our existence
to confirm, nay, establish our worth.
what were we worth, anyway? a sick and dying people, ready to sell themselves on the black market. what worth is there in such a deal?
yet, i seem to be a contrast.. im told;
i live in a box? i am protected from the fear
and the anger
i am shielded from an immense bounding main of pain
and from the lonely depths darker than the brine itself.
so toss me into your swimming pool and box my ears with your rolling pin.
I deserve it most of all.
for having such a quaint, lovely life..
and secretly hoping to squander it at the earliest opportunity,
how dare i?